


Thicker Than Blood

by chartreusegale



Series: The Crystal Bravest [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Spoilers, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreusegale/pseuds/chartreusegale
Summary: The Warrior of Light is but a girl far too small for the burden thrust upon her.Luckily for her, she's got a rather irritated sister to reluctantly follow her around and keep her alive through her various trials.Part 1: Covers A Realm Reborn
Series: The Crystal Bravest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653298
Kudos: 7





	1. A day in the life

**Author's Note:**

> This is my long time FFXIV headfic, put to paper for my first work ever \o/
> 
> Picking a starting point was difficult and exposition is difficult. Writing already established characters is also extremely difficult @_@  
> My desire for detail is keeping me from the juicy Heavensward and Shadowbringer moments, but here are two idiots who are going to need some time to figure out exactly what their futures are going to entail.
> 
> Edit: Changed some ao3 structure to better separate significant sets of chapters.

A Day in the Life

The scent of lemon breezes through the kitchen as Ciriana deftly squirts a lemon onto a sizzling hot pan. The trout in it had seen better days, but was about to transform into culinary perfection, so perhaps its mortal sacrifice could be said to be well honoured.

If there was one thing Ciriana appreciated of their latest home in Gridania, it was the plentiful and diverse ingredients. There was a mountain of other improvements to their lives since finally leaving behind the overcrowded slums of Ul’Dah, but she was fairly certain that if she were to leave these shadowed forests, her culinary repertoire would be what she missed the most.

“Gone soft, haven’t I...” she muses, wondering how comfortable lives their lives must have become if she had grown so fond of such trivialities.

“Get out of bed, you lazy sack of popotoes!” she yells as she withdraws the perfectly grilled trout from the stove.

With her free hand, she fishes a leek from a bundle and snaps her wrist as if throwing a dart.

A satisfying yelp answers her from the makeshift bedroom on the other side of the small apartment is ample testament to her accuracy.

As the table is set, a groggy girl drags herself haltingly into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and limply attempting to pull her robes on properly.

“You’re going to be late, Sarani.” Ciriana admonishes her younger sister as she drops a plate of eggs and cabbage before her.

“I want fish.” the girl pouts, a move that would have worked had she been maybe 15 years younger.

“Fish is for lunch.”

“It’s not going to be crunchy anymore though! It’s going to waste!”

“I’m not having you stink up the Stillglade Fane with fish breath in the morning. You’ll scare all the spirits away.”

“Not the fish spirits though.”

“And thus we regret to inform you that your sister is only capable of weaving spells of water aether.” Ciriana did her best exaggerated impression of E-Sumi-Yan, as she tucked the freshly grilled fish into small boxes and wrapped them up, “It seems her obsessive fish diet was all that was needed to transform a proud Xaelan spellweaver into a Sahagin.”

Serani stifles a giggle while scarfing down her eggs.

“I’ll be honest,” Ciriana continues in her very haughty version of the Padjal, “She looks a lot better this way. Definite improvement to that awful bedhead she always has.”

She wis rewarded with a petty slap from her sister while she ejected egg whites from her nose as she fails to suppress her giggles.

“Now comb your hair and get dressed, you’re going to be late.”

“Er’m no’ a chil’ anymoah, Shiriana.” the girl protests her elder’s nagging with stuffed cheeks.

Ciriana starts pulling on her uniform armour and grabbed a spear leaning against the wall.

By the time she is a properly armed and dressed Wood Wailer, a hopelessly unkempt Conjurer in training is eagerly getting her boots on while still stuffing even more bread into her mouth.

“If you don’t learn how to comb your hair right, I swear I’m going to cut it all off.”

A few quick and violent passes clean up the younger Xaela’s long black locks with a few winces, but before long, the two are sufficiently presentable

“I knowww, we have to be better than all the rest.” Sarani replies with her elder sister’s frequent adage, “My marks are already the best of the generation, the Seedseer will overlook a little loose strands of hair...”

“Don’t forget your lunch. And do not eat it the moment I’m not looking.”

The two pick up matching hand-sized baskets wrapped in a soft pink cloth.

“I’m a growing girl!” she protests, “Sylphie will share her lunch with me if I look pitiful enough anyway.”

“That hasn’t been true for years, kid. And don’t mooch off of your friends, it’s rude.”

The odd pair to be seen in Gridania emerge from their apartment, ready to begin another day in the land that had become their new home.  
There were unlikely any other Xaela in Gridania, Ciriana certainly hadn’t seen many, much less a pair in the Wood Wailers and the Conjurer’s Guild.

They part ways as they reach Old Gridania, one off to her post, and the other off to continue her studies towards a brighter future.  
The younger rushes off, eager for a new day of learning, without a glance back as the older watches her back disappear into the crowds.

  
“What I wouldn’t do for a gentle and beautiful wife who would make me lunches like this...” The black haired man sighed dramatically as he peeked into the lunchbox placed beside him.

“Shut up Laurentius, I made that myself. If a single grain of rice is missing I will eat the four braincells you have left in that hollow skull of yours instead”

The man sighs and puts the lunchbox back down and appraises his rather pitiful looking sandwich instead.

“Next!” Ciriana shouts as the crumpled junior Wood Wailer before her crawls out of the way.

A swift-footed Miqo’te rushes forward and launches a series of jabs at the Xaela’s torso.

On light feet, Ciriana twists her body out of the way of the first two, and strikes the tip of the practice spear with the butt of her own before following through, spinning the tip of her spear towards the junior’s throat.

“The pointy end isn’t the only interesting part of a spear, you sack of coeurl droppings!” she admonishes, “The stick isn’t just something to lean your useless hides on, use it like the bloody weapon it is!”

She pushes the junior spearman to the side and stalks back over to her lunch.

“Dismissed!”

The trainees mumble their thanks for the lesson before shuffling off to probably nurse their bruised egos.

“Eager for that promotion, aren’t you?” Laurentius scoffed as he continued contemplating his half-eaten sandwich.

“Do you know how much the Lancer’s Guild pays their drill instructors?” Ciriana replies, holding her hands up as if to demonstrate how much gold she would have in her arms, “If I turn that pack of decrepit baby antelopes into something mildly more threatening than a pile of sticks, they’ll have acknowledge that my way works.”

“Hardly sounds worth the effort. Mark my words, they’ll find some way to keep you from what you’re owed. Centuries of tradition won’t”

“Strong advice coming from someone who can’t even afford to drown himself at Buscarron’s properly.”

The man sniffs, “I told you I’d pay you back.”

“And I believe you, since I was very clear I was going to hang you as a chandelier in the Adventurer’s Guild by your entrails if you don’t.”

“Ha!” Laurentius barks a laugh, “And yet you insist your kind aren’t part dragon despite all these threats of violence.”

Ciriana knocks her head with a fist a few times to chase away a few unwanted memories.

“In the streets I ran in, those weren’t threats, they were promises. With plenty of precedent to be believable.”

“Quite the frightening savage, you are. You know they call you the Beast from the Bloodsands. I’m starting to understand why.”

“Ha, I was more of a baby eft in the Bloodsands. The names don’t bother me, fear is the first step for that damn guild to respecting what I can teach them.”

“Have you ever thought you’ve deserved more?” Laurentius muses, “You and I, we’ve been dealt quite the poor hand in life, no?”

“Hmph, us and every one else who was cursed enough to survive the Calamity.”

“A generous assessment for one as unfortunate as yourself.”

“There’s not enough pity left in this world for anyone other than yourself these days. And pitying myself doesn’t fill my sister’s belly.”

Ciriana flashes her coworker a smile, a movement that she hadn’t thought possible prior to coming to Gridania.

“I don’t know if we have everything we deserve. But we absolutely deserve every bit of this life we’ve built for ourselves so far. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Laurentius’ expression changes strangely, as if he were contemplating something.

Ciriana lets the conversation die out there, and pulls open her lunch. She wonders where in the Twelveswood Sarani was at this moment, what her face looked like as she enjoyed her favourite grilled trout.

She hopes the girl is behaving in her classes, a gifted learner like her often had troubles handling educational authority. Conjury suited her personality regardless. She was glad the gentle child had found success in the art. Someone like her should never have to see the blood and battlefields the elder Haragin had suffered. Tranquil moments like these allowed her to feel pride in her success in having shielded her little sister from the dangers of the world.

  


The moment the massive Lord of Crags pushes his fingers into the solid rock before her, Sarani Haragin knows that she is definitely standing in the one of the worst places she could find herself in the entire world.

“BOW DOWN”

The earth elemental primal’s thighs flex as he straightens his body with the perfect form of one trying to flip a table. The entire world quickly goes sideways as the ground beneath her is lifted and flipped over the edge of the platform.

Sarani tries to run along the rock, but finds her feet not finding the traction they needed as gravity quickly becomes transforms into her greatest enemy.

She looks down and sees nothing but a one hundred yalm drop into molten lava.

Within moments, the flipping platform would carry her to the bottom of the chasm and become the tombstone of a very flat Xaela.

 _Is this it?_ She wonders for the slimmest of moments.

She had thought the same when brought before Ifrit as a sacrifice and tempering was certain, but she had gotten lucky. This situation felt significantly more dire.

_You are the Warrior of Light, blessed by Hydaelyn. Trust your instincts._

Minfilia’s words had felt inspiring then, now they feel like empty platitudes. Then again, she doubts the woman had anticipated her being thrown off a cliff by an angry primal. The Antecedent could only tune her advice so well.

_Any effort you’re putting into thinking could be better put into moving your Twelve-damned legs!_

A memory of her sister’s words during the Calamity spurs her to action.

The Xaela’s brow furrows as she throws herself forward and upward, grabbing the edge of the shredded rock that was still beginning its spin.

Maybe she couldn’t do a full body pull up in an instant like her sister, but she had her own methods.

Water!

She touches the tip of her staff against the side of the rock and sends a powerful burst of fluid into the rock. Not nearly strong enough to pierce the solid stone, but more than enough to send her flying over the edge like a sling.

She kicks off the falling platform as she spun around the edge and launched herself directly at the Lord of Crag’s stuffy looking face.

Now or never, this is my shot! Got him by surprise!

“Spirits of the Wind, heed my call!” she shouts. In an instant, all the air in The Navel grows still and a massive amount of wind-aspected aether fills her body to the brim, covering her body in green light and swirling eddies.

“Shatter to pieces, you ugly mud ogre!” She roars triumphantly, “Aero!”

She slams the tip of her staff into the beast’s head, right between the eyes, and immediately unleashes all the power coursing through her body through her staff, right into his head.

Titan, Lord of Crags, didn’t have the opportunity to beg for mercy. Rock and stone, ever enduring, weathered away only by the unyielding onslaught of time itself would surrender to none. Decades, centuries, millenia of weathering were nothing before the eternity that was stone.  
And yet the winds of the infinity were brought to bear upon it by Sarani Haragin. The unrelenting blades of air carved through the beast’s invincible adamantine flesh like a hot knife through butter.

Obedient against his will, Titan, Lord of Crags, god of the kobolds, shatters at the Warrior of Light’s command.

With a sigh, the tension that kept Sarani on her feet snapped like her spine would have had she moved a second too slow. She collapsed to the ground more out of relief than out of exhaustion.  
Kobolds were fleeing every which way, horrified by the untimely demise of what should have been their protector and savior.  
A hint of sympathy flashes across the Warrior of Light’s face but is quickly replaced with resolve. The enthralled were no longer their own people. Their wills and minds overwritten by the will of a Primal, they were already dead.

She shuddered at the memory of the Bowl of Embers. The screams and cries that so readily transformed into chants of joy and adulation at Ifrit’s whim. Having witnessed the tragedy herself, she could actually understand the Garleans obsessive quest to destroy them.

But more importantly, she could now understand the bravery the Company of Heroes had to muster in order to slay the beast before. The resolve to run headlong into certain death, the resolve to put the men and women fighting at your side to the sword the moment they turned on you. Their title as Heroes were well deserved.

“I hope I did you all proud.” She speaks her prayer quietly, hoping the fallen would know their deeds had not gone in vain.

She bounces back up to her feet with renewed enthusiasm and dusts her robes off. Back to the Waking Sands for now, she has a delicious lunchbox waiting for her, after all. She can’t wait to see Urianger’s face when she delivers the details of how she bashed the stone Titan’s face in with a staff.


	2. Warriors of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little intersection of Ciriana and Sarani Haragin's day jobs.

“The Warrior of Light?” Ciriana repeats, switching her spear’s position on her back, “Do we even need to bother then?”

The gaggle of young Wood Wailers seemed doubly excited in their gossip when the news came that the Warrior of Light was currently chasing and murdering a number of retreating Garleans, presumably headed towards Baelsar’s Wall.

“Don’t ya wanna see him?” a junior Wood Wailer asks excitedly as they awaited orders.

“I hear she’s a beautiful Elezen,” another one exclaims, “Seven yalms tall!” 

“No way he’s a swordsman from the east, Elezen definitely.” the first replies.

“Well obviously the slayer of primals is an Elezen,” the one senior Wailer speaks confidently, “but she’s definitely a woman, heard it from me cousin, I did. He said all the Grand Companies were courting her, he’s with the Adders, he was there himself! Bowed before her and all, said she was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.”

“I heard he personally stared Ifrit right in the eye” the others are already busy telling their own stories of the fabled Warrior of Light, “and said…he said…’You ain’t right! You ain’t supposed to be here!’ And then he stabbed him, right in the wing, chopped both of his wings and tentacles RIGHT off! With his SPEAR! All five heads of the beast just WOOSH!”

“AHEM” Ciriana harrumphs impatiently, tapping her spear against the wall, “I’m up to kill some Garleans whenever you want, but if a fifty malm tall swordmaster is getting a piece of them first, we’re going to need to hurry.”

She admits she is a little curious what this slayer of primals is up to, but she is pretty certain most business that involved getting face to face with monsters the size of buildings is business she would rather steer clear of.

Retreating Garleans seems a safe enough opportunity to see a legend in person. Sarani would love to hear the story.

“She’s fifty malms tall ya say? Wow, she’s going to kick Baelsar’s Wall right down, ya think?”

“Form up! Spears up!” a commanding voice bellows from behind them.

With practiced discipline, the half dozen or so loose lipped Wailers assume their attempt at organized ranks.

“We’re leaving through the Eastern Gate, let’s go! We’re to observe the Garlean troop and keep them from any Gridanian objectives.”

The uniformed spearmen hustle forward in perfect well trained unison. The discipline of working in an organization really grates on Ciriana’s nerves, but a job is a job, and the pay is good and stable compared to mercenary work, especially in this time of stability and peace.

Safer too, though she can’t say she doesn’t feel a little rusty spending all her time stabbing Ixal and roughing poachers up.

“Aim for the neck or between the joints.” She advises as they jog through the forest. “Garlean steel isn’t easy to puncture.”

“What?” a new member of the Wailers questions mockingly, “The little dragon thinks Gridanian spearmanship can’t best a Garlean now?”

“Ha, maybe if you fight like a beast in the sand, but against Gridanian spear techniques, it’ll be-“

“You’d best listen to the lass,” the commander admonishes, “Fighting real soldiers ain’t nothing like fighting Ixal or poachers. Keep your wits about you. Over there.”

They hear them before they see them.

The clunking of heavy boots and clanging of weapons against armour is clear as day in a forest accustomed to gentle winds and the loud noises of mating lemurs.

There is a group of about twelve or so armoured soldiers moving through the forest, clearly exhausted but nonetheless trying to move as quickly as they could.

“I don’t see no 50 yalm tall Warrior of Light, oi, Haragin, were you taking the piss outta us?”

“There’s some fighting towards the end of their column,” Ciriana notes a few shouts and spells to their left, “We should cut them off at the front and pincer them in, keep them from using their magitek weapons easily.”

Why weren’t they turning to fight? Surely even the Warrior of Light would have difficulties with this many soldiers? Or maybe the rumours were true and he was a thousand yalms tall and was going to pick up the ruins of Dalamud and throw them at Garlemald.

The group of Wood Wailers stay in their vantage point and observe the retreating column of Garlean soldiers as they get closer and closer to their position.

“By the Twelve, he’s getting through them fast.” one Wailer marvels at the symphony of aetheric spells being blasted up the rear end of the Garlean convoy.

“Why didn’t they turn to fight in the first place?” the commander wonders, “When there were more of them?”

“It’s the bloody Warrior of Light, would you want to fight a man who has dueled primals?”

“Getting to the Wall is more important to them than risking something in a fight.” Ciriana guesses, “They’re escorting someone or something, perhaps? Or at least making it look like they are.”

“There’s too many, they’re almost at the Wall.” the commander appraises the situation, “Once they reach the clearing, they’ll have reinforcements.”

“Shouldn’t we help the Warrior of Light then?” the young Wailer notches an arrow and trains it on the lead Garlean.

“We weren’t ordered to engage,” the commander says measuredly, “We’re just scouting, the Adders don’t want to antagonize the Garleans unnecessarily.”

“Don’t you think the eikon slayer’s business is necessary?” another asks, “Heard he walked right up to Ramuh and said ‘no thank you’ and the sylphs all just gave up. We should help him.”

As the cacophony grows nearer, they start to hear more than just distant metallic clunking.

“Mercy, please! I was just-” A head is launched away from the brush, the foliage thankfully masking the violence that was occuring behind it.

“By the Twelve that’s a lot of blood…” 

Ciriana inches her way to the side to avoid getting vomit on her shoes.

The whistle of an arrow breaks the silence, followed by the ominous clang of an arrow hitting a Garlean steel.

“Oh…” is all the Wood Wailer archer manages as they realize what they have done.

“Alright Wailers, move out!” the commander orders suddenly, “Cut them off at the head of the column, don’t let any escape!”

Ciriana stands up sharply, and stretches her shoulders as the others prepare for their first real engagement.

The Garleans are still hustling for the Wall, but a number of them begin to turn their weapons up the ravine towards their position.

“I thought you’d never ask.” she grins.

_Time to get that promotion._

Then she moves.

Before anyone can protest, she seizes the spear out of the hand of the boy beside her and leaps into the air, catapulting both her spears into the forest as she falls into the ravine.

Her legs hit the ground running as she launches herself right into the middle of the column of soldiers. She plants both her feet into the head of a particularly tall soldier, knocking him into the bushes before drawing her knives and rushing the surprised soldiers behind.

She missed her Ul’dahn swords at times, and wasn’t a fan of the famed Gridanian spearmanship but for an ambush of fleeing soldiers, she could probably carve through them with a butter knife all the same.

She is a green whirlwind, spinning and slashing throats expertly. In the forest at these close quarters, the soldiers barely have the opportunity to wield their superior weaponry to even a modicum of its potential.

 _Not too rusty after all_ , she thinks idly, as she grinds through the soldiers.

Slashes and short stabs. Necks and chest cavities. She keeps her movements short and quick and never hesitates as she pushes their bodies aside the moment her damage is inflicted. The shock of the blood loss would keep them from retaliating and she would be long gone by the time any of them might consider a last ditch attempt at vengeance.

“Where are they!?” she hears a hoarse roar as she guts the final Garlean in her way.

Male or female, she can’t tell, but unfortunately not 50 yalms tall. So much for punting Baelsar’s Wall all the way into Ilsebard.

The scene that greets her is terrifying at best, and not at all what she expects from the Warrior of Light.

Black hair matted red with blood, the Eikon Slayer stands above a crumpled figure clad in black steel. 

“Where did you take them!”

The beast roars, slamming the shaft of their staff into the chest of the fallen soldier.

The answer is little more than bloody gurgles.

“P-Please…” he begs, while choking on his own blood.

The staff whirls in the air and glows golden, ripe with earth aspected aether. The head is brought down into the man’s throat, unleashing all of its aether so violently, the helmet simply explodes from within, sending bone and steel in a macabre firework in honour of his death.

Ciriana doesn’t flinch at the gory display, but slowly prepares her blades, in case if the monster’s wrath is turned onto her. 

“WHERE ARE THEY!?” the Warrior shouts again, in a voice steeped in despair as she suddenly directs her deadly bloodlust forward once more.

“Wha…”

Twin limbal rings glow dangerously gold in the darkness. Through the red mist of death, through the agonizing pain of loss, Ciriana’s immediately recognizes the girl before her, even as her mind vehemently denies it.

She couldn’t believe it was her, yet there was no way it couldn’t be. She had looked upon that face and those eyes a thousand thousand times, there was no way she could possibly make a mistake.

But this girl is not someone she recognizes.

The Warrior’s gaze shifts upwards and the pure ferocity in that visage was a nightmare that had no place on a face like that.

The girl dashes forward fast, faster than Ciriana could even believe the girl could move.

She crosses half the distance between them in an instant, and the battle hardened Bloodsand trained warrior cannot even begin to react.

“S-Sarani?”

The portrait of fury instantly morphs. The anger evaporates and the girl seems to lose all ferocity and energy that had been keeping her going up until now.

The distant sounds of combat behind them are banished from Ciriana’s ears as she rushes forward to catch her sister.

The girl sobs uncontrollably in her sister’s arms.

“I’m sorry…I-I’m so sorry...” she stammers over and over and over again.

“Menphina’s teats, did the Warrior of Light do all of this?” A commotion begins to grow as the Wood Wailers wade through the sea of corpses behind them.

“Haragin! Did you find him? ...Damn lizard girl ran ahead just so she could see his lordship first…”

“I’m taking you home.” Ciriana whispers into her sobbing sister’s ear before hoisting her up into her arms.

With a heavy heart and a mind racing with questions and worries and anger and sorrow, she pulls Sarani’s head to her shoulder, holds her tight and begins to run.

Like that time they first ran from the Garleans.  
Like that time they fled Ala Mhigo.  
Like that time they ran from the fires of the Calamity.

Over and over, fate has chosen to threaten them, and over and over again, they ran and ran and ran.

Only this time, she doesn’t know what hurt her most treasured love. She doesn’t know what she was doing here. She doesn’t know what she can do to help. 

All she wants to do was hold this precious little girl in her arms and run fast, run hard, run far far away from all the dangers of the world. Anywhere in the world she could protect her dear sister’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the WoL isn't terribly famous, I imagine, so I'm sure nobody actually knows what she looks like.  
> Poor Ciriana's going to be a little shocked with what her sister's been up to, and things are going to be mostly angsty between them for a while.   
> Ciriana has seen some shit, and is surprisingly capable for a Wood Wailer. The Gladiator's Guild doesn't quite have the the same learning opportunities as the original Bloodsands after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two idiots have a little trouble with communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild canon change. The plan to go find an airship and slay some Garuda is already formulated before burying the rest of the Scions.

“This one protected her to the last.” Sarani speaks quietly, gently stroking the small bag in her lap.

Ciriana says nothing as the wagon rolls on its way past the Hawthorne Hut.

There hadn’t been much to say as they stepped over the remains of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, loading them up in wagons and sending them off to be buried.

Ciriana had long since sworn never to set foot in Ul’dah ever again, but a request from her sister supercedes any oath of hers.

For each and every one, she had something to say about them. Some of them she had never even had the opportunity to talk to them, she said, but she knew regardless.

“The Echo” she had called it. A power that allowed her to peer into people’s past, living or dead. A power that let her, or rather _forced_ her to understand those around her far more than any one person should have to.

“So small...so light…and still she protected her...Why did she try?”

“If she had only hidden, somewhere small, someplace quiet, they would have taken the Antecedent regardless, and she wouldn’t have had to…”

The tears had long since dried up in the young girl’s eyes. There were no more to shed. They were difficult to see on a dark skinned Xaela, but Ciriana could see how haggard and puffy her face was from the emotional drain.

Burying friends like this was something she had never wished for the girl to ever have to experience. The sins she had committed, the tragedy and sacrifice she had gone through were all to shield this dear child from ever going through the same. What was it for if they were now here all the same?

“Are you next?” Ciriana asks finally, after hours of furious silence, her hands forming forming fists at her side.

“What?”

“Are you next on the chopping block?” she asks forcefully, “To throw your life away for the grand designs of others? A sacrificial pawn in the games of heroes and villains?!”

The girl looks up somehow growing teary eyed once more. Ciriana can’t help but look away. Disciplining her was one thing, but somehow pressing the issue when seeing her already so hurt is an almost impossible task.

“I...was once, perhaps.” she admits quietly, her eyes seeing a burning nightmare Ciriana could not even imagine, “But now...now I think they would do the same for me instead.”

“You would think so, but I know people like that Alphinaud. Lofty words and loftier ideals.” Ciriana retorts, losing a grip on her fury, “He would shed a pretty tear and an inspiring word at your pyre and before the flames are out he’d have a dozen more to replace you.”

“It’s not like that,” Sarani contests, “These people need me. It’s not just the Echo, I have something more.”

“So what?! If not you, then someone else will hoist the banner of heroism and fly in to save the day. You don’t need to play at being a hero, you don’t need to sell your life to the world, you just need to-”

“I’m not playing!” Sarani shouts suddenly, “There are real people out there, suffering, fighting to keep their world alive, to keep their lives moving, I will not sit idly by when there is something I can do to save them!”

“Then join the Wood Wailers with me, is that not enough to have your hand in protecting the peace? They can always use another conjurer, the pay would be fair and we can live properly finally.”

“That peace won’t last without me out there fighting for it.”

“You’re just a single girl,” Ciriana scolds her derisively “what possible difference could you make?”

“I am not just a helpless child any longer.” Sarani stands up to face her sister evenly, clutching the sylph’s body close to her chest. “Those rumours you’ve heard? They are true. All of them.”

She holds up a finger before her sister’s nose.

“I stood alone in the Bowl of Embers and faced down the flame primal of the Amal’jaa, I slew the beast alone, surrounded by enemies at all sides and with my own comrades turned against me!”

Her second finger flies up.

“The god of the kobolds, Titan was brought down by me and me alone. It took the lives and bravery of hundreds in the Company of Heroes to match the achievement. Not one of those that fought him walked away unscarred or unharmed, and yet here I am, having slain him alone and yet stand unbent!”

Ciriana is at a loss for words at her sister’s forcefulness. Is this really the same girl who this very morning could barely roll out of bed and comb her own hair? 

“And that much is plenty.” she growls, with half a mind to find the Scions of the Seventh Dawn herself and murder them, “I will NOT see you buried in a snowy grave in a land far away in the name of people who couldn’t care less about you.”

“I’m not being used, Ciriana.” Sarani replies, “This is a choice I’ve made. This is a battle worth fighting, and I alone can defend Eorzea. You can’t stop me. I’m not doing this for fame, for accolades or just to feel like a hero.”

"Garuda, summoned by those Ixal you chase around every day is next, and I swear I will have her head before someday _you_ get dragged before her and have your mind and soul stripped from you and reduced to a thrall to her every whim!"

The fire in her voice seems to cool into a steely resolve.

“I am fighting because I don’t want another child to go through what we have, I don’t want to see this land burned and salted because I chose to turn aside. I was blessed with a great power, and I want to use it to protect the world, the same way you’ve protected me all this time.”

Ciriana could feel herself running out of words. The look in her sister’s eyes, the feeling in her speech, the confidence that soared high above the sorrow in her heart. 

With every laboured breath, she can feel the fire in her own soul flickering, with every passing second, a shard of the dream she has held for so long has flaked off and vanished away into the ether.

“We can leave,” she speaks quietly, after a moment of silence, “We can flee, sell everything we have, find a boat that will take us to Doma.”

“Ciri-”

“The Azim Steppe.” she continues, with hope in her heart, and desperation in her voice, “We’ll find a way to get back, there are pirates and storms, but nothing we can’t handle. You always loved the stories of the blue skies and endless plains. I know you’ll love it. The people there, they’re like us.”

“I’m not-”

“They’re wild, they’re free, they’re a little...peculiar,” she could feel the wind on her cheeks, see the bright blue sky in the heavens, “but you kind of get used to that, eventually. We can live there. We can heal there. Please, Sarani.” She begs, “Let’s go home.”

Sarani lets out a small sniffle and steps forward, to take her older sister and long time protector into her arms. The older pulls her own arms around the dear child whose side at which she has affixed herself to against all odds and holds her tight.

“Thank you, Ciriana.” she whispers in her ear, “And I’m sorry.”

A wooden thonk is heard as her staff gently touches the back of the older Au Ra’s neck, letting gentle aether into her mind, to ease her soul and send her to sleep.

“Wh-Wha…” she mumbles as consciousness begins to escape her.

She had dealt with dirty tricks like this many a time in the Bloodsands, but never from such a compromised position, and most certainly never from someone as trusted as her own sister.

“H-How could you…” she fights against the stagnating aethers stabbing their way into her consciousness.

Sarani guides her sister’s weakening limp body back to her seat in the cart.

“This has all been for you. I’m sorry.” She whispers as Ciriana’s eyes flicker shut, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarani successfully continues about her primal slaying, and adds dragon slaying to the list of her new jobs. She also gets to meet a certain good looking Elezen at Camp Dragonhead. They get off to a bit of a rough start, when he doubts her abilities and tests her.  
> Ciriana unfortunately does not have an airship, and takes quite some time to catch up. Unfortunately more than enough time for Sarani to flutter some eyelashes at a certain son of Fortemps.


	4. End of an Era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realm is reborn, thanks to a pair of idiots who work together a little better now.

“The Garleans are in complete disarray, sir.” 

“General Raubahn, the Third Platoon are requesting relief, Commander Bloodchaser’s fallen, they need the chain of command restored.”

“General Raubahn, the Fourth is pushing too far, their flank is exposed, they need orders!”

The massive highlander general stands still, his eyes closed taking in all the information one at a time.

“Roaille, promote Lieutenant Mimijita and send her to take command the Third.” he commands in an imposingly deep voice, “Have Pipin pull the Fourth back. We’re here to hold their attention, he need not risk unnecessary casualties.”

Sarani steps forward as his second in command hurries off to execute his commands.

“You needn’t stand in line for my attention, lass.” he tells her as she steps forward.

“My apologies, my lord.” she bows deeply, uncertain of how to interact with him without Alphinaud’s presence.

“Get your head up, eikon slayer, your part to play is soon to come.”

“R-Raubahn’s push uh, I mean your push sir, that is, uh, your Raubahn’s Push…vanguard it’s um...I killed some...stuff...” she stammered.

The man barks a laugh, “Seems we’re ready then. Steel your nerves lass. I should be the one nervous in your presence, Eikon Slayer.”

Sarani turned a little red and reflexively bowed again.

“You have your squad prepared, O Warrior of Light? Our push on the Castrum begins shortly. You know your role, may the eyes of the Twelve watch over you.”

“Th-Thanks.”

Sarani glances at her motley group of adventurers. All of them are highly skilled and battle hardened adventurers. She had fought beside them all before, be it against monsters in underground dungeons, demons in haunted mansions or against dragons in the cold northern Coerthas. She was ready to trust them at her side in this battle.

Raubahn turns to address them all. 

“Sneak into Castrum Meridianum, while we engage the main troop without.” he reminds them of the mission, “Find some way to disable the shield generator, Master Garland will be with you, he’ll find some way to do it. Then we’ll be able to assault the Praetorium and be rid of the Garlean tyranny for good.”

His imposing voice steels the nerves of the men and women before him, and inspires a vision of victory in their hearts.

“All of Eorzea depends on your abilities. Find your courage in your love of our homeland!”

“Yes sir!” they all shout in their best attempt of military etiquette as they turn to leave.

“By Thal’s left ball, get out of the way or I’ll feed you to the Garleans as a soup.”

A commotion arises at the entrance of the General’s staging area.

The guards at the front turn to investigate, but find themselves knocked over by the Au Ra storming inside.

“Ciriana!?” Sarani exclaims at the sight of her sister after such a long time, half out of excitement at seeing her beloved sibling again, and half out of fear of the look on her elder sister’s face as she stalks through the room towards her.

Some guards begin to react as she steps right past Ciriana and delivers a solid fist into Raubahn’s shoulder, which was probably as far as close as she could get to his face. He didn’t flinch, she might as well have been punching a wall.

“My. Sister.” she says with significantly more irritation than anger.

“HA!” Raubahn exclaimed mirthfully as he waves his guards to stand down, “Still alive, eh? Dragon of the Bloodsands.”

“You know I hate that name.” the diminutive Au Ra snarls, still with more irritation than actual anger, “You didn’t think to even call me before you sent my sister into the belly of a Garlean Castrum?”

The man barks another laugh. “I had thought you long dead after the Calamity, Ciriana. I’ll be reassured to be fighting at your side once again, my old friend.”

“I’m not here to babysit you, Bull of Ala Mhigo,” she replies, using his old arena name as well, “I’m here to babysit this one.” she jabs a thumb at the Warrior of Light.

“Ciri, this is far too dangerous, we don’t-”

Ciriana flips her hand around and jabs her fingers into her sister’s throat catching the next words in Sarani’s throat before she can voice them.

“If you ever try to ambush me again, I will put you to sleep the Bloodsands way. We don’t use magic.”

Sarani nods quickly, slightly frightened by the expression she had never seen directed at her before. Slowly, she starts to attribute more and more of their successful narrow escapes and confrontations to her sister’s terrifying glare than luck.

“You’ve never actually seen me fight before, have you?” she says coolly, before releasing her, stepping past the girl to examine her sister’s handpicked squad.

Sarani looks gingerly at Raubahn, who apparently knows her sister personally, yet failed to mention it to what had to be the one other Xaela in Eorzea. The Bull of Ala Mhigo was a legend, but Ciriana had never been more than an average gladiator in her time, she had never heard of any “Dragon” during their time living in Ul’dah.

“You, what’s your name?” the woman points accusingly at an Elezen spearman.

“I hail from a long line of Ishgardian-”

“Get out.” she gives the man a clap on the face and pushed him towards the door.

“All of you get out.”

They look to Raubahn for an explanation or direction, he eventually gestures them out of the room.

“A smaller group moves quicker,” Raubahn says, as the confused adventurers shuffle out, “I can assume you haven’t grown rusty?”

“I’ll slaughter every Garlean within those walls if I have to.” Ciriana holds up a fist, “I’ll have her break that primal shooting machine if I have to throw her at it like a brick.”

“This is absurd,” Sarani protests in bewilderment, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder, “You’re in over your head, sister, you haven’t seen and faced the things I have, this isn’t-”

“No you’re the one in over your head.” Ciriana seizes her wrist with a ferocity Sarani had never seen in her gentle and loving sister. Sarani struggles, but is unable to even budge a single of her sister’s fingers. “You’re not a child anymore, and they may call you ‘Warrior of Light’, but you are no warrior yet. You haven’t even taken your first step on the path. You’ve been fortunate enough to have avoided any real opponents but that luck will run out the moment you step into a Garlean encampment.”

“Nothing I do short of cleaving your legs off will stop you from moving forward, so I’m going with you.” she snaps at the younger Xaela, “If you’re planning on gallivanting across Eorzea to find your grave then I’m going to follow you every step of the way and keep you from sauntering into it like an idiot. Got it?”

The limbal rings in her eyes sparkles golden in the light, adding emphasis to her determination. Sarani can’t help but suddenly feel comforted in her older sister’s presence.

“Trust your sister, lass.” Raubahn advises, “Twelve know I did in my time. She is the only one I would trust to take on the Black Wolf at your side other than myself.”

Sarani takes a hold of Ciriana’s wrist and looks her right in the eyes. She can barely suppress the tears coming to her face, so she pulls her into a tight embrace before she is seen crying in front of the soldiers.

“Thank you…” she whispers into her ear.

Ciriana sighs and holds her sister as tightly as ever.

“You’re not a little girl anymore.” she says with a tinge of regret. “You’re the Warrior of Light, after all.”

Sarani lets out a little laugh to mask her tears.

“That’s right.” she says, holding her sister even tighter, “That’s me. That’s who I am.”

“I will always keep you safe, and I will always support you, no matter who you choose to be.”

Sarani buries her face into her sister’s hair, and taking in deeply of the scent and feeling that had always made her feel secure.

“If you want to abandon it all, just let me know.” the woman whispers mischievously into her ear, “I know all of the Bull’s allergies.” 

Sarani giggles a little while distancing her from her sister with a disapproving glare. Something tells her the offer is not entirely a joke.

“Operation Archon phase two is on then.” Raubahn declares as the two pull away from each other.

“Warrior of Light, Dragon of the Bloodsands…”

He holds a fist to the sky, “May the Twelve guide us all to victory!”

* * *

No attack taken without a counterattack. Not a single breath spent not pressing the attack. Not a single movement spent not bringing you closer to victory.

This is the way Ciriana Haragin, Ruby Road Butcher, Dragon of the Bloodsands fights. With skills and body honed in a lifetime of hard pressed combat and the will to always survive to see another day, she is a warrior with few peers.

Sarani Haragin had been told of this mantra when she first watched her sister grind through a dozen Garlean soldiers uninterrupted. The savagery, speed and skill with which her sister walks the battlefield was one she had never seen before. Her two blades used every advantage they could find, even the blades on her boot and razor tied to her tail found their way into vital and tendon every moment they could. Not a single choice she made was ever a mistake. Not a single second passed without every weapon she had at her disposal individually seeking out more death.

Livia sas Junas was an opponent Sarani’s eyes could barely even follow. The woman fought with fanatic zeal, and with the support of her troops, Sarani had thought their mission failed.  
And yet her sister’s ferocity only increased to match. As if the subterfuge and slaughter she had previously displayed were as natural to her as carrying the groceries home, her speed and precision of her strikes suddenly quadrupled the moment she needed to take on the Tribunus.

The fight had been lightning fast and possibly stalemated, but Dragon of the Bloodsands had simply chosen to outsmart the other woman, leading her into a trap with the Garlean’s own Magitek cannons. 

Sarani couldn’t help but feel vindicated as the woman who slew Noraxia of the Little Solace was cut down mercilessly, the name of her own precious person on her lips.

Gaius van Baelsar was an opponent without match. His attacks were heavy and destructive, rending air and steel with as much ease as one might slice a loaf of bread.  
Once again, Sarani was able to do nothing but watch in awe as the man was put on the defensive, meticulously covering his vitals from Ciriana’s onslaught of attacks, and dealing massive area destroying cleaves that left the elevator in flames, and his opponent’s scales consistently on the verge of being singed.

Sarani had convinced herself she would be of use, that her mastery of conjury and practice with the White Magicks of A-Towa-Cant would be valuable, that as a team, the two would be able to take on these fearsome foes.

And yet once again, Ciriana Haragin drove back even the Legatus Legionis, leaving him battered, bruised and bleeding, with barely a singed hair on her end. He ran, he did not retreat. He fled before the blade of a woman considered small by even Au Ra standards. 

Not a single spell had come from the Warrior of Light’s staff in her support.

She had stood before primals and shorn their wings, shattered their hearts, and extinguished their flames. She had fought men and women, heretics and dragons, warriors and poachers. Taking life, being threatened, slaying eikons; they had all become as second nature to her, and yet she found herself witnessing power beyond what she had thought possible. The Echo had granted her power, Hydaelyn’s Blessing had granted her purpose.  
Yet despite the invincibility she displayed when tearing gods from their perches, she had never even begun to understood the depths of the world of those that dedicated their lives to slaughter.

This was her sister. Her caring, loving sister. The face that sang lullabies with all the gusto of a diva. The hand that had always been there for her to hang onto. The woman who had worked so hard and gone through so much, and always returned at the end of the day with a brilliant smile to present her.

She had never understood what trials her sister had gone through to provide for her, to keep her safe through the dangers their lives had presented them. What horrors had she gone through in order to grow such deadly skills?

Sarani could not help but feel hurt, even as she understood. That for all the hellscapes they had walked together, for all the life they had shared with one another, she had decided that she could not trust her own sister with the price she had paid to bring them all this way.

Not once had she asked for gratitude. Never had she voiced a single word of complaint. Every day, in those Ul’dahn slums, she would return home and ask for nothing but a smile and a hug.

Perhaps it was time that they finally come clean to each other. An end to all the secrets, an end to protecting each other from what they thought too dangerous for the other.

* * *

The Ultima Weapon was invincible. There was no throat to cut, no hamstring to sever, no throat to pierce. Not a single opening, not a single weakness.

Again and again, Ciriana threw herself at the war machine, ducking and weaving through flame and stone, blades of wind and bursts of raw unaspected aether. And each and every time, she retreated, her efforts as fruitless as ever.  
Her movements grew more reckless, her tactics more desperate, her attempts more creative, her body more damaged and bloodied.

With a shattered sword, she still resolved to stand to the last, any single moment she could buy for her dearest sister to find a way to escape.

With Crystal held aloft, the Warrior of Light marched forth, and truly demonstrated her namesake.

Against the onslaught of primal power, a shield of light effortlessly rebuffed all that might seek to harm Her Champion.

Empowered by the Light of the Mother Crystal, the simple Conjury student from Gridania unleashed a barrage of holy magic, rending the armour of the Allagan weapon with an ease that made a mockery of Ciriana’s previous efforts.

Ciriana had thought herself her sister’s protector, her life had entirely revolved around that role. 

And now all she can do is sit helplessly and watch as the girl steps forward, alone and vulnerable, before a mechanical monstrosity designed to kill gods.

She had heard the stories. She had accepted the fact, but somewhere deep in her mind, she had still been convinced that her sister was naught but a reasonably talented Conjurer.

She feels an enmity growing in her heart, amidst the implacable feelings of loss and powerlessness. How dare Hydaelyn steal her sister away? After the Garlean invasions, one after another, after the Calamity, after everything they had gone through, after all the hungry days and cold and shivering nights.  
_She_ was the one who cradled the child to sleep when she had nightmares. _She_ was the one who celebrated her successes, and admonished her vices. She was the one who had stolen, thieved, killed for a livelihood for the two of them to remain together. 

What right did the Mother Crystal have to conscript the one and only treasured thing in the Ciriana’s entire world? Why her? Of all people?

Sarani steps forward, and the darkness retreats and cowers in fear. One by one, the primals consumed by the Ultima Weapon are torn from its grasp. Hydaelyn’s Blessing shines ever brighter, drowning out all else.

“From the deepest pit of the seven hells, to the very pinnacle of the heavens, the world shall tremble. Unleash Ultima!”

After inane ramblings from a being Sarani named “Ascian”, the Ultima Weapon counters with its own unstoppable light.

Ciriana attempts to rush forward and defend her sister, but finds that her legs won’t even carry her own weight before power that could rival that of the Calamity.

Unflinchingly, The Warrior of Light maintains her position. There was no such thing as bravery, Ciriana had always thought. Only fear, and sufficient stupidity to mask it.

And yet the face worn by Sarani Haragin tells neither of those tales. Her lips pressed thin, her eyes blazing gold, there is no overconfidence or even a shadow of fear. There is no room for doubt in the girl’s mind. She staunchly believes in the power of the Crystal that protects her with as much surety as she believes the sun will rise on the morrow. 

Ciriana’s blood runs cold in her veins, the icy talons of fear digging deep into her heart. She had raised this child from a little girl into the young woman she was supposed to be today, and yet she barely recognized this Heroine of Eorzea before her. 

She hadn’t believed the stories herself. The excited tales of Ishgardian nobles reeked of a smitten nobleman’s poetry. The drunken stories of the Company of Heroes smelled of the tall tales of a braggart and liar. The happy testimonies of every farmer, every guard and every child who had enlisted her help had been dismissed as effusive and excessive gratitude for simple tasks.

How could that meek and timid girl change so much in just a handful of months?

The Echo filled her soul with stories of the pasts of others. The Blessing of Light was a curse that condemned her to stand here alone, a tiny pebble before the flood of darkness that threatened the entire continent. Was she even the same girl at this point? 

How many lives has she lived, inflicted upon her by this so called “Blessing” of the Echo? What horrors has this child braved in order to be able to stand here with such resolve? What insanity and pain has this quest filled her soul with to the point that she would willingly place herself before a threat like this?

The shield of light shatters and fades as the last vestiges of the Ultima magic fade.

“Oh Hydaelyn...it seems the task of keeping your champion alive has exhausted what little strength you had left.” The Ascian Lahabrea mocks them, before leaving the field to the Black Wolf.

Even without the divine protection of her holy benefactor, the Warrior of Light continues to stand tall as the flames about them erode what little is left of the once invincible Praetorium.

Ciriana wants to open her mouth, to stand, to call for them to flee. Her greatest desire in this very moment is to take her greatest treasure in her arms once more, and to run far, run fast, and carry her all the way back to the home that barely remained in even her own memory.

“This one is my fight, Ciri.” Sarani says, her voice trembling imperceptibly to any other than her own sister, “This is all I can do, after all. I’ll have to rely on you for the rest.”

The wooden staff Ciriana had so proudly bought her at the beginning of her Conjurer’s apprenticeship clatters to the ground. Summoned out of light, a new staff appears in her hand.  
With a flourish, she plants the massive concentration of aether into the ground before her and holds her arms out.

“We settle this once and for all!” van Baelsar shouts as the Ultima Weapon unleashes a massive torrent of unaspected aether.

“You have no right over Eorzea!” Sarani shouts back as she brings her arms down before her, summoning a massive sigil behind her back, “Holiest of Holy! End this terror forevermore!”

In an instant, a column of light engulfs the Ultima Weapon’s attack and the body of the Allagan marvel itself. The light grows so bright the Ultima Magic itself was as but a flickering candle before it. Ciriana holds her arms up to brace herself against the shockwave and shuts her eyes tight and even so the brilliant luminescence still manages to sear itself into the back of her brain.

When the force of the attack dies down, the Au ra warrior lowers her stance in time to see the Black Wolf tumbling from the shattered remains of the mechanical warmachine, somehow still alive.

As if the previous paralysis of her limbs had been nothing but her imagination, she sprints forward, managing to make her way to the centre of the arena in time to catch the collapsing Warrior of Light.

She quickly checks her pulse and brings her cheek close to feel her breathing.

“To pave the way for our God’s return, a chaotic confluence of untold proportions must needs be brought about. And that will necessitate the presence of the primals.”

The Ascian Lahabrea appears out of a portal of darkness before them.

Ciriana holds up the remaining half of her longsword in a defensive posture above her sister’s crumpled body.

The man almost seems to smirk at the sight of her.

“You and your Scion accomplices can not be suffered to interfere in this endeavour.”

“You can’t kill him…” Sarani’s weak voice says, barely above a whisper.

“He looks like he’ll bleed well enough when put to the sword.” Ciriana replies, wondering what the limits on the Ascian’s teleportation were. She doubts she’d be able to effectively evade him and flee with Sarani on her back.

“The body…” Sarani shakes her head, “It’s Thancred...I can save him.”

Ciriana sighs and then offers her best attempt at a reassuring smile to her sister.

“Fine…I’ll play nice.”

“It is past time your flame was extinguished…’Bringer of Light’.”

Ciriana lays her sister back down, supported by a sturdy enough piece of rubble before looking back at the Ascian.

“I’ve had it with your gods and echoes and ultimate weapons.” she says as she fishes a short knife out of her jacket, while taking inventory of what few weapons she had left available.

Even underneath the robes, Ciriana can tell the man was well built and lithe. She can’t say she still had all the vigour and agility she could muster at her disposal, but she would never lose in a battle of speed, even if he could use those portals effectively.

“You would offer your meaningless life in such a pointless struggle for the Warrior of Light?” the Ascian asks as his body begins to float.

“No, I’m offering yours.” Ciriana retorts as she kicks her foot a few times against the floor to test out her injuries.

“You and your pathetic kind have always felt the need to-”

The moment Ciriana spies the man’s eyes flicker, even for a moment, she moves.

Before his sentence is even complete, the distance is crossed and a blade slices through the air, trained on his neck.

The Ascian unceremoniously twists his body out of the way at the final moment, taking only a graze against the neck.

“You would injure the-”

Ciriana spins in mid air as the momentum of her charge carries her past, and hurls the short blade in her offhand right into the man’s shoulder.

As he cries out, more in anger than pain, he is once again engulfed by black flames, vanishing away to reappear a few yalms further.

“Tch.” Ciriana makes an irritated sound as she gathers understanding of the entity’s teleportation techniques. She had expected him to fight like a street rat with a physique like that.

“Know that should I perish, so too will the Archon within whose flesh I reside!” he snarls, tearing the blade from his shoulder.

Ciriana shrugs as she tosses her blade between her hands a couple of times, testing her bruised muscles. “Eh, she’ll forgive me.”

The man teleports away once again, as Ciriana begins her second charge.

Pitched pools of darkness begin to form at her feet, but the Xaela’s steps are too quick and agile to be caught by such simple tricks. She leaps over some, kicks off of some debris and barely slows her rapid advance.

“Fall to your knees in abject despair, pitiful sundered mortal!” he proclaims triumphantly “Behold magicks nobler than the feeble facsimiles that would dare pay homage to them! Burn in the darkness of shadows!”

The man’s body erupts in a violent cyclone of black flaming aether that rapidly expands outwards, threatening to engulf the entire platform.

Channeling aether into her broken blade, Ciriana positions herself in between the growing sphere of shadowed flare and cleaves an opening through the attack with all her strength, gouging a massive dome of safety through the storm of aether.

“So much for noble magic…” she mutters as she turns and hurls her weapon back at Sarani.

“Accursed insects!” the Ascian roars as her blade plunges into his back, moments before he would execute the Warrior of Light.

“Hydaelyn!” Sarani’s request carries over the chaos of battle as she holds her crystal aloft.

The Ascian’s desperate scream echoes in vain through the ruins of the Praetorium as light engulfs the two of them with a single flash, leaving nothing behind.

Ciriana sighs, releasing the tension of battle from her body as she wanders over to the spot where her sister had been lying moments before.

For some reason, she had no worries about the girl, even though as far as she knew, she could be having dinner at the Bismarck with the mysterious cloaked sorceror.

Maybe she understands that the Mother Crystal would at least not harm a hair on her own champion. Or maybe she has come to terms with the limits of the role she could play for the Warrior of Light. 

With a sigh, she lets herself fall onto a sufficiently chair-shaped block of rubble and stares up at the sky through all the rising smoke. She picks up the abandoned wooden staff and cleans some ashes off of it gently.

“Welcome back.” she says, before shaking her head, dissatisfied with the formality.

“Took you long enough.” she adds just enough snark to be clear she’s joking.

“And what were you two doing alone for so long?” she tries a sassy voice before shaking her head as violently as possible to physically dislodge the idea from her mind.

A second flash of light, almost banal in its similarity to aetheryte teleportation, carries both Warrior of Light and Scion of the Seventh Dawn back in one piece.

Sarani looks drained and exhausted, but wears a relieved smile nonetheless. Ciriana doesn’t even notice the crumpled Archon beside her when she throws herself forward, and pulls the only Light in her world into a tight embrace with all her strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to think that the skills required to fighting a table flipping primal are strictly separate from those required to fight some random dude with a sword. People like Gaius, Estinien and Zenos are at the peak of their craft and are probably kind of hard to fight when all you have is a wooden stick and a will. Ciriana goes toe to toe with the likes of them but is unfortunately currently useless against anything her blades can't cut, or things that could enthrall her in a moment, naturally.
> 
> Turns out all of ARR was spent getting these two idiots to interact with each other better.
> 
> We'll finally get to some new and fun characters, now that exposition is done, assuming that I successfully learn how to write multiple voices and am not in over my head.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor girl is going to find a bunch of dead people and Echoes of painful memories there. Lets hope that'll put her in the right mindset to finally talk to her sister about it.


End file.
